May 16, 2001

Project car still on the road to ruin

By GARRET LEIVA
Herald editor
       After nearly seven months of hibernation, the albatross is back leaking 10-40 oil on the garage floor.
      Now logic dictates that the sole purpose of an automobile is to transport occupants from Point A to Point B. After all, a car is really just molecules of metal, glass, rubber and $1.92 a gallon gasoline. Thus, the only type of attachment a car owner should concern themselves with is the tires to the road.
      When you add the word "project" to a car, however, all logic is thrown out the driver's side window that barely rolls down. Irrationality is how 'Le Junk' came into our lives.
      It was the summer of 1997, stupidity and $2,000 had just bought the title to a 1972 Pontiac Le Mans housing mice in the trunk and squirrel acorns in the air cleaner. Why I purchased a car parallel parked between oak trees could be traced back to one thing - my childhood.
      Ever since I was a young boy, I've had a hang-up about hot rods. I've also had this quirky ability to save pennies and dimes then buy something utterly useless. Which would explain the mail order Sea Monkies that once resided under my bed. It also accounts for the rusty lump of Monarch Gold sheet metal under a half-inch of dust in my garage.
      At 29 years old, the Le Mans has been around the block a few times - including possible abandonment in an alley at some point. The odometer shows 26,354 which optimistically means mileage less than 926,354. Overall, the Le Mans has that "Christine" car-from- hell quality imperative to all well-meaning restoration endeavors.
      Of course, there have been minor improvements to the car my father-in-law affectionately dubbed "Old Smokey":
      - Problem: Brake pedal held in place by 20 oz. soda bottle which prevented switch from being activated and leaving brake lights on, thus draining battery, thus leaving you stranded in the grocery store parking lot. Solution: Buy and install 60 cent spring (of which 10 cents derived from bottle deposit).
      - Problem: One bolt holding driver's seat to floorboard. Solution: Install new bolts (and big washers) into floorboard rust holes.
      - Problem: Sock stuffed in firewall hole. Solution: Matching pair of dirty socks for garage/yard work.
      - Problem: "Old Smokey." Solution: Use self-taught mechanic skills to rebuild tired engine. Problem: Use self-taught mechanic skills to rebuild tired engine. Solution: Seek professional help; perhaps for the car.
      - Problem: Car doors won't unlock from outside. Solution: Cheap anti-theft system no one can break into. Problem: No one includes car owner.
      Given the lack of brakes and abundance of Bondo, even Mr. Goodwrench would utter bad words while working on this basket case. Truth be told, owning a project car is similar to wearing the Hope Diamond - both are curses around your neck. Unfortunately, I've always been one to tempt fate.
      Ignoring the obvious, project car owners can justify purchases and midnight repair jobs using the simpleton logic of "it could be worse." Luckily, car magazines publish "could be worse" poster children on a monthly basis. Stories about $300,000 labor bills and driving to Tijuana for a taillight are not just inspirational, they are defense ammunition.
      Just the other day, my wife said she "admired my determination" concerning the car. The tone of her voice, however, invoked an image of Napoleon reading Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade" while standing inside the Alamo.
      Whether the Le Mans rises Phoenix-like from carburetor backfire or remains a two-door dodo is a matter of opinion: Mr. Half-Empty's or Mr. Half-Full's. Perhaps one day I'll achieve car crafting "could be worse" status. More likely the albatross and I will be eternally damned to wander the earth in second gear.
      Grand Traverse Herald editor Garret Leiva can be reached at 933-1416 or e-mail gleiva@gtherald.com